


Let Me Come Home

by sun_dance



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Era, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_dance/pseuds/sun_dance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Someone asked me what home was<br/>and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue,<br/>the flowers sprouting from your mouth,<br/>the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers,<br/>the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title and partial inspiration from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zone's _Home_.

The thing about running a travel blog is that the word _home_ starts to lose its meaning.

Some days are better than others. Most of the time, Jim can get away from Leonard by disappearing into the back of the van. If nothing else, their relationship is symbiotic; Leonard does the driving. Jim runs the actual blog, keeps up with the coding, edits the photos. Everything has to be pre-approved by both of them before they go driving across an entire state.

It all started in Iowa.

\--

_“I may throw up on you,” the dark-haired stranger drawled lightly. He reeked of stale alcohol, regret, and self-loathing. September didn’t appear to agree with him._

_“I think these things are pretty safe,” Jim said, looking out the window of the bus._

_“Don’t pander to me, kid.”_

_Jim rolled his eyes, tuning out the rest of the man’s speech. “Well, I hate to break this to you, but you’re stuck on this thing for the next few hours.”_

_“I got nowhere else to go. Ex-wife took everything in the divorce. All I’ve got left are my bones.” He pulled out a flask, swallowing a mouthful. Jim could smell the bourbon, smokey and rough, and he smirked slightly, eyeing the small metal container._

_The stranger lifted an eyebrow and offered it to him._

_“Jim Kirk,” he said, taking it and tossing back a mouthful._

_“McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”_

_The alcohol scorched his throat on the way down, and he handed back the flask with a smile._

_“Where you goin’?”_

_“Anywhere that isn’t here,” Jim said, looking out the window again. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, swamped in the old material._

_“Guess we got somethin’ in common.” The drawl thickened as the alcohol hit Leonard’s system. Jim turned back to him, taking in the white knuckles of his hands where they were clasped together._

_Jim kept him talking, and before too long they pulled into a bus station two hours out of Riverside._

_“Well,” Leonard grumbled, his knees wobbling a bit as they hit the dirt._

_“Let’s hit the road together,” Jim blurted out, before he could think of something else to say._

_“I hate vehicles,” Leonard pointed out._

_“You can drive. Go as slow as you feel like. I wanna see the sights, man. Let’s just rent a car and drive until we find something worth finding.”_

_“How we gonna pay for this, kid?”_

_Jim stared at him for a second, then looked down at the ground. “I’ve got a trust fund. Dad left chump change and it’s been collecting nothing but dust and interest.”_

_“The hell you wanna hit the road with me for?” Leonard asked, but he was already saying yes, and Jim grinned._

_“You’ve got the right attitude, I guess. No bullshit.”_

_“No bullshit,” Leonard nodded, then sighed. “Alright, let’s go find us a car.”_

_Instead, they found an old bus that had been converted to a house-on-wheels. The back had two narrow beds against the sides, with storage space underneath and above them. Just inside the main door was a kitchenette with a table that could be flattened into an extra bed. There was a tiny bathroom with a shower just big enough for a five year old. The carpet was old and musty._

_It took them a week to tear out all the upholstery and put down new floors, change out the mattresses for ones that didn’t have suspicious stains all over them._

_They filled the water and gas tanks._

_They stocked up on food, and realized the fridge wasn’t working. It took them another few days to find the right parts and for Leonard to change out the wiring. The stove didn’t work, either, so they bought a used camp stove at a garage sale. Jim found a tent that had plenty of holes, but would keep them dry in the right climates and would mean fewer nights on the tiny beds inside._

_At the end of the third week, Jim disappeared for nearly three full hours._

_When he returned, he had a laptop, a satellite internet modem, and a map._

_“What’s all this?” Leonard asked, trying to sound angry, but his relief that Jim hadn’t abandoned him was palpable._

_“If we’re gonna travel the country, we might as well document it. I saw your camera back at the motel.” Jim dumped everything on the kitchen table, and sat down. He started sorting through everything; first, he plugged the computer into the wall. He untangled the cords of the modem and when he realized Leonard was staring at him, Jim stared back._

_“Well? Are you going to drive, or do I have to do everything?”_

_Leonard crossed his arms and scowled. “Where are we going?”_

_Jim’s grin lit up the whole vehicle and he pulled out the map of the states. He stood up from the table and leaned over it to pin the map up on the wall of the bathroom._

_“Anywhere,” he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork._

_They decided, after some deliberation, to head to Maine._

\--

The thing about being on the road with a stranger is that you tend to get on each other’s nerves.

“Jim, where the hell is all the change?”

“Should be in the change jar, Bones.”

“Well, it’s _not_. I need to do laundry, and we don’t have any quarters. And don’t call me that.”

Jim rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, extracting a five dollar bill. “Here, go to the change machine like a _normal person_.”

Grumbling, Leonard took the bill, and stomped out of the RV with his shoulders hunched up to his ears.

\--

Their first destination was Old Fort Western, a stronghold built in 1754. Jim took a picture with every step.

Leonard grumbled about the stability of the old woodwork, complained about the smell, and when Jim spun around and snapped a picture of him in front of the exhibit, Leonard lunged for the camera.

It wasn’t a bad picture, but Jim had to dance out of Leonard’s reach and laughed in his face afterward.

“If you’re takin’ pictures of me, you’re gonna be in ‘em,” Leonard growled, expecting Jim to balk at the idea.

Instead, he grinned and flipped the camera around. The resulting photo was one of Jim grinning from ear to ear - a third of his face out of frame - and Leonard’s shocked eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.

“That’s _definitely_ going on the blog,” Jim sang, already floating away.

“Just - put the strap around your wrist!” Leonard glared after Jim, who continued snapping pictures until the tour guide barked at him to put the camera away.

Jim did, but not before snapping a photo of the man’s angry finger pointed straight at him.

The blog post was full of pictures and not at all structured. Jim rambled on and on about the history of the fort, peppering pictures of things here and there, and at the end of it he left the picture of the pair of them as a kind of signature.

The first few comments were critiques of the writing, which Jim ignored; what he found interesting and laughable were the ones inquiring as to whether they were together.

He couldn’t blame them, considering they were two guys in an RV together. He kindly explained that they were complete strangers.

\--

The thing about living in a motorhome is that the shower’s tiny, the beds are lumpy, and there’s very few places that’ll let you charge the battery when one of you accidentally leaves the bathroom fan on all night.

But when you’re standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with your arms stretched out like wings, the wind howling past your ears, and you close your eyes - it feels kind of like flying. Until Leonard hauls you back from the edge of the cliff, growling about how the safety rail is there for a reason.

It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it, especially when Jim catches a glimpse of matted chest fur whenever Leonard doesn’t close the bathroom door all the way.

\--

The thing about trust funds is that they run out.

Jim discovered this in Niagara Falls, when he went to withdraw money for the ferry, and his balance was under four digits for the first time since high school.

“Shit,” he muttered, blinking at the numbers. Leonard approached, his lazy strut familiar and infuriating.

“What’s taking so long?” Leonard drawled, leaning against the ATM. Jim glared at him and pointed at the screen. “Shit,” Leonard echoed and whistled lowly, scratching at the back of his head.

“Yeah,” Jim snarled, exiting out of his account. “Let’s just get to New York City. I’m sure we can find something there that’ll pay under the table.”

Looking back, Jim was surprised it took them six months to drain his account. Between buying the vehicle, fixing it up, and keeping the tank full - well, they were lucky they’d gotten so far. There were hidden expenses, too.

Well, not hidden per se. Camouflaged. He had to pay to keep the website up, after all. There was also the hard drive he’d bought back in Boston, because the laptop memory was already getting full of pictures and Jim refused to delete any of them.

_“Just delete the crappy ones, kid.”_

_“No, Bones, the crappy ones are what make it fun to go through them.”_

_“That makes zero sense. Delete the copies of the ones on the website.”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Fine, buy a damn hard drive, I don’t care.”_

They had around two thousand people subscribed to the blog, keeping track of where they’d been and where they were going. Jim spent hours at a time replying to emails and comments. He had nothing better to do on the hours-long drives to new locations.

The few who commented regularly liked to discuss their relationship status, and whether Jim was lying when he said they weren’t dating.

\--

They spent three months in New York.

It was hard finding work. No place would hire them on, not even after Jim offered to work under the table and earn under minimum wage. The winter months were long and cold and sleeping in the van was less than comfortable, but they bought their weight in extra blankets and some nights, when it got _really_ cold, they’d drag their mattresses onto the floor of the bedroom and sleep next to each other.

But only for warmth, and Jim sure as hell didn’t put that on the blog.

They were down to double digits and petty cash when they stepped in to a grungy little coffee shop advertising large coffees and free wifi with purchase - “That doesn’t even make sense,” Leonard grumbled - when Jim was approached from behind.

“Excuse me, are those your photos?”

Jim leveled his gaze across the table at Leonard; they were both wearing raincoats over thick flannels and hoodies, and Leonard had taken off his dark blue beanie in the warmth of the coffee shop, but they both still looked homeless.

They basically were. Jim twisted around and looked up at a tired looking woman with long, straight dark hair.

“Well, are they?” She asked, crossing her arms impatiently.

“Yeah, they’re mine,” Jim replied.

“What agency do you shoot for?”

How on earth she fingered them as professional photographers, Jim wasn’t sure.

“Uh… I don’t?”

“Nyota?” The barista called out. The woman pursed her lips, raking her gaze over his beard and over his thrift store clothing, down to his worn Chucks that were soaked all the way through.

“Be right back,” she muttered, and went to retrieve the latte the barista still had in his hand. Her heels clicked on the way back to their booth, and without a word Leonard slid over to make room. She sat down, laying her purse on the table.

“My name is Nyota Uhura. I work for Enterprise Advertising. We take on new talents and get their work out there. What’s the name of your business?”

Jim glanced at Leonard, who shrugged. “We don’t have a business. We’ve just been travelling. I take pictures as a hobby.” He tapped the hard drive. “I run a blog and just talk about where we’ve been, with photos of the places and people and us.”

Nyota nodded curtly, sipping at her latte.

“I’m Jim, by the way. This is Leonard, my co-pilot. Practically my doctor, he’s always keeping me in check.” Jim grinned at him.

“Jim, I think you’ve got potential. If you’re interested in selling your work... We’ll get you on retainer for a magazine - I bet _American Roads_ or _TRVL_ would pick you up in a heart beat.”

“Really?” Jim perked up, sliding his laptop to the side. “How much does it pay?”

“It depends on how much you sell. Work like that… We could get you started on eight hundred a month. It’s not much.”

“It’s enough!” Jim blurted out, and immediately recoiled at Leonard’s glare. He cleared his throat, “I mean… That sounds fair.”

Nyota smiled and pulled her card out of her purse. “Call me tomorrow, I’ll have you come in and go through your photographs to put together a portfolio.”

By the end of the week, they had two hundred dollars in their hands. They left New York City with an agent.

\--

The thing about travelling with a complete stranger is that you get to know each other pretty quickly.

By the end of their first year on the road, Jim couldn’t fathom running a travel blog with anyone else. There were days when he had to spend hours at the computer staying in touch with Nyota. He never once considered ending the blog for the sake of more money, either - eight hundred was enough to get them by, enough to keep them on the road. They grew less selective about where they went, and by the end of their first year, they’d made it only as far south as D.C.

There were so many settlements, especially along the coast, and each of them had something that made them special. Jim was determined to show the world the beauty in every little thing, and one day, when Jim demanded they stop in the smallest town Leonard had ever seen, he turned to Jim with his mouth set in a cranky line.

“Damnit, Jim, why do we have to stop in _every town_? There’s nothing here!”

“There’s always something, Bones,” Jim muttered, staring out the window. The day was gray and windy, unusual for early fall, and Jim was bundled up in a sweatshirt that may or may not have been Leonard’s.

“No, sometimes it’s just deserted. Look, half the town isn't even _open_ ,” Leonard pointed at three shop fronts in a row, all with closed signs that looked like they hadn’t been reversed in years. “There’s nobody here, kid.”

“There’s always something,” Jim said, this time with a little more bite, a little more sting, and Leonard squinted at him.

“There’s nothing here, though.”

“There is _always something_ ,” Jim snarled, finally swinging around to face him. His eyes were ablaze and Leonard recoiled in surprise, his mouth parted slightly. “Just because you don’t see it, just because you aren’t looking for it, doesn’t mean there isn’t something. Everyone’s got something worth finding, Bones. Everyone is worth your time, all right?”

“Every _one_ ,” Leonard echoed.

Jim’s jaw clenched and he threw himself back against the seat, looking out the passenger window.

“Jim, who left you?”

Jim shook his head slightly, biting into his hand. After a few long minutes, he took it away. “Just go, then.”

Leonard waited a few more moments, the silence thick and suffocating. With a sigh, he put the van in drive and pulled away from the curb.

\--

The thing about motorhomes is that there’s nowhere to hide. Later that night Jim went to bed and found the mattresses on the floor, Leonard leaning up against the wall with a Nook in his hand. He looked up when Jim stopped in the dark doorway.

There were lines on his face that Leonard had never seen before.

Slowly, he lowered the device, set it down, and wrapped his arms around his knees. Jim looked ready to bolt.

Somehow, he crossed to the mattress and sank to his knees, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his past.

“My brother,” Jim said, pulling his sweatshirt off. He left it on the floor and crawled under the blankets. Leonard followed suit and turned onto his side, waiting him out. Jim settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “He left me the day he turned sixteen and never looked back.”

“You mean Riverside,” Leonard asked, just barely able to identify Jim’s profile in the darkness.

“No, I don’t,” Jim said quietly, his voice rough, and if Leonard had reached over he’d have felt the wetness seeping into Jim’s pillow. He turned onto his side, his back to Leonard.

The man didn’t know what to say to that, so he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Jim. The kid trembled slightly and brought his knees to his chest, curling into the fetal position. Leonard’s heart broke a little, so he wrapped the rest of himself around Jim, holding him, letting him turn his face into his pillow and sob quietly.

He didn’t mention that Jim had done the same thing as his brother; then again, he didn’t know anything about it.

\--

As the months crept by, Leonard learned more about Jim’s past. The knowledge of Jim’s driving history only cemented his position as pilot.

Jim learned more about Leonard, too. How his marriage had crumbled after they had the baby in the third trimester, her premature lungs unable to cope with anything but a respirator after the birth.

Gradually, they got to know each other, pieces falling into place like a puzzle. The more pieces they had, the more their pictures changed.

One afternoon, Jim went looking back through their blog posts. He was looking for a particular comment from a particular post, but he couldn’t remember where they’d been or who the comment was from, so he just decided to go through from the first blog he’d ever written.

The comments from the early posts made Jim grimace, and not with embarrassment.

\--

The thing about _middles_ is how strange it feels to look back at the beginning. The pictures then were fuzzy, with Jim’s fingertips in over half of them. But the weirdest of all were the pictures of _them_. They held themselves differently, Jim’s shoulders stiff and Leonard almost never touching him.

The backgrounds changed, but if Jim put all the photographs in a row, he could click through them really fast and like a stop-motion film they got closer and closer, the pose always the same but different.

Leonard’s smile got looser, easier, his dimples deepening.

Jim’s beard got longer, his smile disappearing behind it but always evident in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

After New York, his arm started showing up at the edge of the frame, slung around Leonard’s shoulder. The day that happened was the day they had enough money to finally move on, and they’d been more than a little drunk at a bar when Jim pulled Leonard in close for the shot. Jim remembered snippets of that night, remembered Leonard’s arm snaking around his waist to keep him close, and how they leaned on each other for a solid ten minutes before they separated.

The longer they were on the road, the more they appeared in the blog posts. They were in almost every picture. There were still great shots of the view from the seaside cliff, perfect snippets of the coastline, but somewhere along the way they’d begun taking pictures together in front of the monuments in each place, inserting themselves into the history of it all.

Somewhere along the way, they changed.

At the last blog post, Jim frowned. There was a picture from their first night in Virginia Beach. The bar had been crowded and it was one of the few times Leonard was the one to take the photo.

Mere seconds before the flash went off, Jim had been hailed by a set of twins who offered to buy him a drink and promised him a good time. He had said no, but at the moment of the picture, he had been looking away.

Leonard had been gazing right at him, and even though the image was a little blurry from motion, there was no mistaking the downward curl of the edge of his mouth. The eyes were what made Jim’s stomach twist with guilt; a mixture of sadness and longing and disbelief, perfectly in focus.

He was staring at the picture when Leonard came stomping into the van, his clothes soaking wet and his scowl firmly planted.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” he gasped, shaking water out of his hair. “Did you find that joke?” He stepped up to the table and leaned over the laptop, but Jim was too quick for him. He snapped it shut and used one bare foot to push him away.

“You’re dripping water, you’ll fry the circuit,” Jim snapped, pushing the laptop aside. Leonard fumbled back against the counter at the force of Jim’s kick, wincing as the corner dug into his backside.

“Jesus, you could’ve just said,” Leonard grumbled, unzipping his jacket.

“You were too quick. Anyway, I didn’t find the joke.”

“Shame,” Leonard mumbled, rubbing his his left butt cheek.

“Sorry,” Jim pressed his lips together, opening the laptop back up. He exited out of the website and watched as Leonard drifted toward the back room, stripping out of wet clothes with the door still open.

Jim caught himself looking as more and more items were discarded.

\--

The thing about Georgia is that Leonard can’t bear being in it for long.

He didn’t stop driving except to fill up the tank.

Jim didn’t ask him to.

When Nyota emailed about whether there was anything to see, he just said, “Nope,” and that was that.

\--

The thing about driving to the end of Florida is you can’t pass up snorkeling on the coral reef.

Despite Jim’s high hopes, the whole adventure was a disaster.

The tour guide spoke in a monotone, and barely let them do any actual exploring. It had been Jim’s idea to hit the reef, to show Leonard a few fish and brightly colored corals, but they cut their tour short by a few hours when Leonard started getting seasick.

Back in the van, Leonard admitted he’d been faking it.

“You… faked being seasick?”

“Yeah,” Leonard mumbled, his gaze darting toward Jim before returning to the road.

Jim snorted, just a small puff of air gurgling up through his nose. Then he chuckled. Then he made the mistake of looking at Leonard, who was looking at him like he was insane, and it moved on to full blown laughter - the kind that made your stomach hurt for days, the kind that brought tears streaming from his eyes.

Before too long, Leonard had to pull over to the side of the road, because he was crying right alongside him.

Eventually, the laughing fit died down. Jim straightened up in his seat, sniffling and wiping at his eyes, a few residual chuckles still escaping from his chest.

“What the hell was that?” Leonard asked, pulling his t-shirt up to wipe his eyes. It exposed a strip of his stomach, scrunched up from his slouched position, and Jim stared at it until Leonard lowered his shirt again.

“You know what? We’ve got some money saved up. Let’s go to a hotel, sleep on a real bed.”

“We don’t have to, Jim. It’s not your fault this turned out to be such a disaster.”

“Nah, it’ll be fun! We’ll go to a spa, get massages.”

“Y’know, those mattresses are pretty uncomfortable…”

“That’s the spirit!” Jim moved back to the table, opening the laptop. He found a hotel spa within minutes and booked them a suite, hovering over the bed options.

As Leonard put the van in drive, Jim glanced up at him, and instead of opting for two queens, he clicked the king option. The single king option.

\--

The thing about spas is that if you want a paired massage, they assume you’re a couple. As such, their tables were placed side by side, and their appointments were all scheduled together.

It’s perfectly natural to get an erection during a massage; however, Jim was pretty sure his was because of the ridiculous moans coming from the other table.

Throughout the mud bath, facial, and steam room, they sat in companionable quiet. Leonard even fell asleep during part of the facial, if his low snore was any indication.

At the end of a few hours of pampering, they went up to their suite. It was on one of the top floors, and when Jim unlocked the door, Leonard’s sharp intake behind him made him grin.

“Home sweet home,” Jim said, picking up his bag. He strolled into the suite, leaving it by the bed. There was a little kitchen, a dining room, and an entertainment room deeper in, but he had his eye on the balcony.

“Jim,” Leonard said slowly, stopping by the bed. He stared at it in confusion.

“Yeah, Bones?” Jim kept walking toward the French double doors that led outside, pulled them open to take in the breeze.

“There’s only one bed,” Leonard grumbled, peeling his boots off.

“There’s also a couch. You can sleep in here,” Jim replied.

“Are you sure? You’re paying for this.” The other man sat down on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m sure. Come on, let’s order food. I’m starving, but being pampered is tiring business. Mind if we eat in?”

“Not at all. Might just fall asleep here…”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jim said, hauling him to his feet. “Come on, enjoy the sunshine at least.”

“I don’t want to enjoy the sunshine.”

“Too bad. I’m ordering food, and we’re going to sit outside.”

“What are you ordering?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jim grinned, and shut himself out on the balcony. He leaned against the railing, pressing his cell phone to his ear. He had to find the right angle to get rid of the static, but soon had food on the way.

While they waited, Jim dragged a table and two chairs out onto the terrace. He pulled Leonard into the living room, where they flipped through channels aimlessly. By the time dinner arrived at the door, Leonard’s stomach was rumbling, and he was complaining quietly of his hunger.

Jim hopped off the couch and retrieved the food, giving the delivery man an extra tip, and Leonard trailed after Jim like a lost puppy.

In order to get the food, Leonard was forced to step out on to the balcony. He did so reluctantly, but once Jim uncovered the tray of lobster tails, he forgot all about the height of their floor and dove into one of the chairs.

There were two glasses and a bottle of bourbon sitting innocently on the table.

“Here’s to a great trip so far,” Jim grinned, handing him a glass of the sweet and smoky liquid. They clinked glasses and then turned to their meal, digging in.

“Jim, I can’t thank you enough for dragging me away from that bus station.”

“Dragging you?”

“Yeah, kid. I didn’t know you, I had no idea if you were some kind of murderer. But you looked cute in that huge sweatshirt and your beat up Romeos, I figured you could use somebody to watch out for ya.”

Jim was quiet for a moment, using his lobster as an excuse to not say anything. Bourbon appeared to loosen Leonard’s tongue, a fact he filed away for later. “They were my brother’s,” he said quietly, looking down at his food.

“I know,” Leonard sighed, taking another sip. “Anyway, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Jim mumbled, stuffing lobster into his mouth. He couldn’t taste a thing for the next few bites, not until his heart returned to its normal pace. No matter how long it’d been since Sam left, he still approached a panic-attack whenever it was brought up.

They continued their meal quietly, occasionally glancing at each other and quickly looking away again.

Leonard seemed to recognize the signs, but he didn’t quite seem to grasp that this was Jim’s version of a date.

He understood a half hour later when a young woman arrived with a bottle of champagne and a platter of chocolate covered strawberries.

“Jim, just what the hell is this?”

“It’s my treat,” Jim grinned, sliding the tray onto the little table. Leonard glared at him, gripping his empty bourbon glass tightly. He looked to the fruit and the champagne and back to Jim, narrowing his eyes even more as Jim popped the cork and poured the bubbly. “Sorry the reef wasn’t all I made it out to be. I remember it being a lot better last time, but then again, I was five.”

Leonard’s expression softened and he looked down at his knees. “I had fun,” he mumbled, and Jim rolled his eyes.

Jim picked up a strawberry as he sat back down, biting into it slowly. Red juice dripped from his mouth and he swept it up with his tongue just to see Leonard grow visibly flustered and look away.

“What’s all this about?” Leonard asked, finally, his gaze trained out on the surf.

Instead of answering him, Jim pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s take a picture, Bones.”

“What? Why?” Leonard scowled up at him, his free hand gripping his chair as if Jim were going to force him.

“Well, we didn’t get any of the reef like I’d planned, and we need something from this stop.” He looked down at Leonard, giving away nothing, and finally Leonard sighed.

“Just one, and then I’m going to bed.”

“Sure,” Jim nodded, and ducked into the suite to retrieve the camera. He came back out and handed it to Leonard, the lens cap already off. “Come on, to the rail,” Jim prodded, watching Leonard wrap the strap around his wrist.

“Why do we have to be at the rail?” Leonard whined, lowering the camera to his side so he could put all his energy into pouting at Jim.

“Because it’ll make for a nice picture. Just one, Bones, then you can go crawl under a blanket and pretend we’re on the ground.”

Leonard grumbled under his breath and shuffled his feet; impatient, Jim grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him over to the rail, catching him with his other hand. Leonard glared at him for a solid ten seconds, his hand gripping the rail behind Jim. He lifted the camera and deftly reached his finger around to turn it on, the move practiced, and started to raise it for the picture.

“Come closer,” Jim muttered, snaking an arm around Leonard’s waist. He jerked Leonard up against him, his heart thudding at the soft gasp of surprise. Their hips were molded together, with Jim’s ass resting against the railing. Leonard was warm and the wind was throwing his hair in all directions.

Jim glanced at him, then back to the camera.

A second before his thumb closed over the shutter button, Jim turned his head and kissed him. He felt Leonard’s chest expand into him, and the hand on the rail turned to take hold of his waist, his arm settled against the small of Jim’s back.

Jim opened his mouth and pulled at Leonard’s bottom lip, the camera still snapping pictures because Leonard hadn’t released the button yet. He was in shock, although Jim wasn’t sure why - it wasn’t like he’d hid his intentions at all. Jim brought his other hand up to Leonard’s jaw, stroking over it with his thumb. He angled his head and pried Leonard’s lips open, his tongue snaking into the other man’s mouth.

Leonard made a soft noise, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and finally let go of the camera. It fell, dangling from the strap as he brought his hand up to the back of Jim’s head. The strap slid to the crook of his elbow, out of the way, and his tongue pressed back against Jim’s.

Jim’s breath grew ragged when Leonard bit at his lips, turning so that he had Jim’s hips pinned to the balcony rail. It was all Jim could do to wrap his arms around Leonard’s neck, taking a fist full of his shirt from either shoulder.

After that night, they tore out the mattresses of the RV and installed a queen.

\--

The thing about signing your name to a well-trafficked blog is that, eventually, your estranged brother finds it.

One afternoon, about three years and twelve states later, Jim signed on to an inbox full to bursting with emails. The previous day’s blog post already had four thousand comments; he’d given up replying to every single one, and instead guided their viewers to email whenever they had pressing questions.

Halfway through clearing out the spam list, Jim’s mind stumbled over a name, and every facet of his nervous system came to a screeching halt.

Leonard walked in an hour later to find Jim with his back to the wall, his head on his arms, trying to breathe.

\--

The thing about stepfathers is that sometimes they drive your older brother away, and sometimes your older brother leaves when you need him the most. Jim didn’t blame Sam any more than he blamed himself, or his mother… but he still hated him a little bit, so he ignored the first email for a week. It wasn’t until the fifth or sixth email that Jim finally opened them, and started reading.

The first one simply read:

_Dear James,_

_I was surprised to hear about your blog the other day. My secretary was doing research about Dad, and… well, your name popped up alongside it. It’s interesting to read about your life this way - can we talk on the phone?_

_G. Samuel Kirk_   
_Kirk & Associates_

Jim glanced up at Leonard when he slid a plate of eggs before him.

“Eat something, kid.”

“Bones, these emails were already read.”

“I wanted to make sure he wasn’t askin’ you for money or nothin’.”

Jim scoffed around a mouthful of eggs, but after he cleared his plate, Leonard stood up to take it. Jim stopped him with a hand on his wrist and a, “Thanks,” before turning back to his messages.

 _Jim,_ read the second,

_Did you get my other email? I was at work, so that’s why it ended so formally… I really would like to speak to you. I’ve got a lot to… apologize for. It’s been eight years. Please call me._

That time, there wasn’t a name; just a number. In spite of himself, Jim saved it into his phone.

\--

The thing about family is that Jim didn’t have much of one left. At night, when he fell asleep plastered to Leonard’s back, he sometimes let himself think that he’d found one.

It took another week for him to muster the courage, and when he made the call, it was with Leonard’s hand closed around his own.

_“Hello?”_

Jim dropped the phone like he’d been burned, and fumbled with it in his lap before he managed to end the call.

“Jim,” Leonard murmured, rubbing a hand up his back.

“I’m not ready,” Jim whispered, leaning into his arms.

Half an hour later, his cheek plastered to Leonard’s sweaty chest, his phone started to ring.

“That’s probably him,” Leonard mumbled, his lips pressed to the top of Jim’s head.

“Should I answer it?”

“That’s up to you.”

Jim sat up and moved the blankets around on the bed, his movements growing desperate as the ringtone neared its end. It stopped ringing about twenty seconds before he found it, somehow having kicked it under the bed; after a minute of staring dumbly at it, Leonard reached for his knee. A voicemail popped up and Jim opened it as fast as he could.

_“I thought it was you, Jim. Listen… I know that I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I couldn’t stay there any longer. If I could’ve… I’d have taken you with me in a heartbeat. You have to know that, right? You’re my brother, Jim, and… I understand… if you don’t want anything to do with me. I really do, but I hope you could give me a chance to… to make things right. I know that’s not possible, but at least let me try. Let me try.”_

Jim swallowed as the recording ended, turning wide eyes on Leonard.

“What’d he say?”

Jim lowered the phone to his lap, staring at him. “He said he was sorry.”

“Awful long message just for a sorry,” Leonard smiled softly. “Anything else?”

“He, um… Said he would’ve taken me with him if he could’ve. Asked if I’d give him a chance to make it up to me.”

“What do you think?” Leonard squeezed his knee, patient and open, and Jim wanted nothing more than to fold himself back inside his arms.

Instead, he took a deep breath and shrugged. “I think I’m not ready to do that yet.”

\--

The thing about giving your no-longer-estranged brother your phone number is that he can call it whenever he wanted.

And he did. _Often._ To a point where Jim started leaving his cell phone off whenever he and Leonard were together, which was all the time.

He checked his voicemails nightly, and learned that Sam was living in Washington with a wife and two dogs. He learned that Sam had his own law firm, just like he always said he would. Sam rambled on for minutes at a time in his voicemail, and no matter how hard Jim wanted to still hate him, he found that it got harder every time he heard Sam’s voice.

\--

The thing about controlling a law firm is that you can leave just about any time you want.

So when Jim called Sam from Vegas, and said, “It’s time,” Sam just smiled in his ear.

“Where are you?”

And to Leonard, it felt like the last piece of Jim’s puzzle fell into place when an older, slightly square-jawed, beardless version of Jim came striding out of baggage claim. He witnessed the two of them finding each other, and Sam striding purposefully towards them. He watched Jim’s arms slap into a tight hug, and they held onto each other for endless minutes.

“You grew up,” Sam sniffed, finally drawing back. He scratched at Jim’s beard, laughing wetly.

“A little,” Jim grinned, still cupping the back of Sam’s head. “Sam, this is Leonard,” he said, stepping aside to reveal the dark-haired Georgian.

“Hey,” Leonard smiled, rocking back onto his heels.

That night, they ate too much food and gambled away too much money and drank a little too much wine, but Jim didn’t care.

\--

The thing about running a travel blog, going on a road trip with your best friend, and living out of an RV is that you learn  _home_ is not necessarily a place but a feeling.

\--

_Dear Universe,_

_For those of you who have been with us since the start, we want to thank you._   
_For those of you who joined in the middle of the journey, we want to thank you._   
_For those of you who are just now joining us, we want to thank you._   
_For those of you who made us food during our trip… We want to thank you!_

_If you’re someone who’s helped us in anyway, we just have the deepest gratitude. Alas, we have come to the end of our road trip. We’ve been all over the States, to just about every town. We’ve made amazing friends along the way, seen some amazing sights, ate some incredible food… but all good things must come to an end._

_I’d like to take a moment to thank my agent, Nyota, for finding me in New York and making this possible._

_And now, you guys get a little story._

_Our final stop on this trip was a little place called the San Juan Islands. Me being me, of course, I had no idea that the islands were actually islands. Who knew? We wound up staying on one of them, camped out along the beach, and what did we see but a little pod of whales in the distance?_

_It was incrediballs. (Bones will probably smack me when he proofreads._ **I did smack him.** )

_I still can’t believe it’s been five amazing years, and to think it all started with a little flask of bourbon on a clunky little bus in Riverside… But you all know that story, so I won’t bore you with it again. I know this post is supposed to be about the San Juans, and they’re really beautiful, but I just have something huge to tell you guys and I know a lot of you - Richard, Macy, Derek, and Colleen, I’m talking to you specifically - are going to flip. your. shit._

_Can I say shit on my blog? Who cares, it’s my blog._ **Our blog.** _Right, our blog._

_Anyway, can you guess what the news is?_

_…_

_Bones totally fucking proposed._

_I’ll spare you the details._ **No you won’t.** _All right, no I won’t._

_We were camped outside the truck (remember, the RV broke down last year, and we decided we’d tent camp for the rest of the trip) and it was cold as balls, because we’re in a freaking tent campground and it’s right on the freaking beach, and I’m sitting there freezing my freaking ass off when Bones comes walking up with a literal fucking oyster, and I swear to god, my first thought was - that’s dinner?_

_I’m sitting by the fire trying to get my teeth to stop clattering, and Bones is standing there shuffling his feet, and he says -_

_“So, um, it’s um… it’s our last night on the, um, trip.”_ **I did not say ‘um’.** _Shut up, yes you did. Anyway, then I said,_

_“Yeah, it better be, because I’m sick of nearly getting hypothermia every night. Get down here and warm me back up.” Because I was so damn cold, I didn’t want to stoke the fire._

_“Will you walk with me?” Bones says, and I’m just like,_

_“No! I’m cold!”_

_Repeat that a few more times and you’ve got about five minutes of our night, and Bones just does that thing where he huffs like a five year old,_ **Excuse me?** _shut UP Bones, I’m telling a story! He does that thing where he sighs and he kneels down in front of me and holds up the oyster, and I’m just thinking about how hard I could kick him if he suggests I eat it, and then he opens it and -_

_You guys, there was a fucking ring in that oyster._

_A ring._

_I have to keep looking at it because sometimes, I still can’t believe how lucky I am. And how big it is, because DAMN. It keeps catching whenever I put on a hoodie._

_Bones is the best thing that ever happened to me. We’re heading to Seattle in a couple of days to meet up with Sam and his wife, Aurelan. Mom’s flying into town soon, too, ‘cause they just had their first baby._

_Anyway, this is JTK, signing off for the last time. Thanks again to all of you who’ve read our story. When we set off on this trip, I don’t think either of us expected this._

_I love you, Bones. You have no idea._

**Love you too, Darlin’.**

 


End file.
